27 October 2010

Alright Costco, I don't know why you're selling caskets in the first place, but "The Mother Casket"?

For shame. I do understand that there is the word Mother embroidered on the casket, and the name seems obvious, but let's think about this a little more.

Furthermore, the interior description says "Nude crepe."

Right after it says this:

THERE IS NO SCIENTIFIC OR OTHER EVIDENCE THAT ANY CASKET WITH A SEALING DEVICE WILL PRESERVE HUMAN REMAINS

(In all caps because Costco wants to ensure they are not held liable for decomposition of loved ones' bodies.)

Maybe this blog post is in poor taste, but so is the name of this casket model, admittedly. It gets good ratings, though, which is saying something for Costco's online storefront, where reviews are hard to come by.

Also, when I'm dead, please don't spend a lot of money on my funeral and casket. That will be of no use to anyone.

20 October 2010

I used to write in my journal a lot. I don't much anymore, and ever since I stopped writing consistently, I have mourned the fact that I don't. (Yet I haven't done anything about it.) I think it was important for me in many ways. Among them, it gave me a chance to work through my feelings and often, to bring a new perspective and understanding to those feelings and ideas. It gave me a chance to respond. To think about all of these stimuli that bombard me constantly.

The lessening of my journal writing seemed to correlate with the beginnings of a committed relationship (which resulted eventually in marriage; if you hadn't guessed, I'm talking about Husband). I wondered if the relationship between lack of journal writing and presence of commitment was meaningful beyond the correlation. I think in a way it is. This makes me feel a little better about not journal-writing these days. I have found a replacement, in a sense—a safe place to express myself.

It's sort of a trade-off though. Communication with a human being is dynamic and communication with a piece of paper (no audience intended) is not. I gain some love but I lose some understanding and perceived self-actualization in the process.

I haven't been reading Saussure (was I supposed to read him as a student of English language/linguistics during my undergrad career?), but Husband has, and from this secondhand reading, I interpret language as a means to thought. In fact, I've got a blog titled that (By the way, this blog is where I post poetry I write, which is another thing that I haven't done for quite some time—related?).

Meaning.

I find my thoughts in the expression of them.

I think Saussure might support this.

I cannot think of anything I love more than doing it (communication) well, or helping someone else do it well, or reading someone's words who has done it really well. It's why I love writing, editing, reading. When that understanding (that understanding: the understanding that goes, oddly, completely beyond language) is achieved between two minds, two souls—that is an incredibly beautiful moment. And nothing is more eminently frustrating than miscommunication, language failure, and disconnectedness.

I wish I could talk better with people and narrow the gap between souls more often through conversation. I am not very good at conversation. But when I feel like language is transcended and understanding is achieved between another person and me . . . well, the word that comes to mind is love, and that can be felt in so many ways.

Funny that this love is both found in and destroyed by language. One of my favorite songs by Modest Mouse is "Blame It on the Tetons," and there is a line in there that goes like this:

Language is the liquid

That we’re all dissolved in

Great for solving problems

After it creates the problem

I feel like language is a perfect analogy for life that way. So amazing and so imperfect and so inescapable.